Men of a Certain Age

Men of a Certain Age

Gentlemen, this is a guide to what you should and shouldn’t do when in a sexual encounter with a SW, trust me this will facilitate a very smooth and enjoyable event for everyone involved.

1. Do not in mid stride, just as you are about to climax, stop! No, no, bloody hell no. Nor distract yourself with mindlessly twiddling my nipple, or pointlessly flicking my clit. I am not going to spontaneously erupt in orgasm, and all you are doing is delaying the whole point of the exercise. Get to the point! Why do I and every other SW find this annoying? Because your dick is going to loose focus and flop over dead! Yup I said it. You cock is going to give up the fucking ghost and lose interest. Which means because you paid for an hour, I am then obliged to attempt to raise the fucking dead! So, I am stuck trying to suck life into a cold limp member who rarely gets out to play, and has a short attention span. I too have a short attention span, so prompt attention to task at hand is appreciated. Now I have no objection to a second attempt, so coming quickly the first time doesn’t mean the fun is over. It means you get the tension out the way, we can have a good chat, a nice massage and a second round. But trying to hold off to ‘make it last’ has the exact opposite effect.

Notes to remember: your dick is ready for action, get to the sticking point and don’t fuck about with delaying tactics.

2. Stop trying to imitate porn movie moves! You are not a damn acrobat, nor is your cock that big. In, out, in, out, works best for older gents with small dicks. Stick to what your know don’t get all inspired and decide to do tricks, you will end up hurting yourself and pissing me off. Seriously this whirling, swivel hip movement, doesn’t work. Visually it looks cool in a porn film, when a buffed, toned, well hung, YOUNG man does it. You on the other hand end up looking like a middle aged fool about to have an elliptic fit. Stop it!

3. Stick to the language you know. Do not decide due to suffering from a midlife criss to ‘change things up’ and start using misplaced slang. You are not Kanye West or Puff Daddy. Plus telling any woman, you want to lay your pipe in her phatty, will likely result in your getting slapped, hard! And you would deserve it for being such an idiot.

4. Do feel free to stop and take a breather at any point during the activities, it isn’t a marathon, and you aren’t running a race, no need to try to shag yourself into a cardiac arrest, beating your poor dick into submission. Hanging on to my hips and trying to shove your limp, lifeless cock into my pussy, is going to accomplish what? Annoying me!

5. It is time you realise that the technique you have perfected for making every woman come, doesn’t really work. I don’t think it ever worked. I hate to break it to you, but most of those screaming orgasms, were probably faked; to prevent you from further lacerating their delicate girly bits with your abysmal technique. If you want to make a woman come, don’t talk , don’t lecture, don’t assume, FUCKING LISTEN!

6. Know thyself! And stop deluding yourself into thinking the SW you are with is actually that into you. Seriously dude, I get paid well, but I don’t get paid that well to sit and listen to your mindless drivel about your imaginary PAID conquests. Seriously! Blathering on about how you made this and that SW come, is pure comic gold.

7. I am not your therapist, marriage consular, financial adviser, or spiritual guide. Sweet Jesus! The amount of shit I get dumped on me after a few sessions. Shagging me for money, doesn’t make me your confidant! Come in, get your service, enjoy our time together and leave. I am not going to regale you with stories of my issues, spare me yours.

8. DO NOT! I repeat DO NOT, have a drink before coming to visit me! If you are nervous, run around the block! Drinking is a depressant and will only make it MORE difficult for me to do my job, and it will dampen your enjoyment of said encounter. The preferable way to handle this, is to tell me you are nervous, and let me give a soothing massage to relax you naturally.

9. DO NOT, leave snail trails of your spittle on my body! Arrrggg, this is so revolting! It isn’t sexy, it isn’t a turn on, and I find it grossly off putting! Especially when you have had your tongue wedged up my ass! God, I want to run screaming from the room in horror! Jesus Christ, don’t they teach kids anything about hygiene in school, or at home!?

10. DO NOT, spit on my bits either! For reaction to this see 9.

11. DO NOT, shove your digits up my bits and jab about like you are trying to unblock a sink, or work loose a coin. It isn’t sexy, it is annoying, and in case you forgot, that is what your dick is for.

12. Please do not take more than the prescribed amount of Viagra! I really don’t want to have to explain to the authorities why there is a corpse with a priapism in my boudoir.

International travel

International travel

To say I am a jet setting ho is an understatement. I think I am up in the air more than my legs. 😉 so, during my many transcontinental trips you start to notice things, how certain groups of people travel, how people are treated at airports, how bloody inept the security really is, down to how certain airlines treat their passengers.

The bottom of the scale is Ryanair, a flying bus, that stops short of charging you to use the toilets. It was actually proposed. Not an airline I use, unless there is no other option, and I mean no other option. I would take the bus, or the ferry before traveling with those cheap bastards. And anyone who knows me, will tell you I don’t travel well by either of the latter options.

Traveling through LHR is akin to witnessing the migration of huge herds of various types of animals all at the same time. Asians tend to be like schools of fish, all moving in the same direction at the same time en fucking mass. Jesus, I try to avoid being any where near them. Africans, are like pissed off migrating pachyderms, with more flipping luggage than any human should have at an airport, arguing when informed they have to pay extra for the 80kg over the allowable weight. Loudly, too I might add!

Then you have your budget travellers, they remind me of bees, everything is micro managed to the ounce, as they can only afford to travel as the budget is limited and there is no pissing room for error. The clueless traveler, much like a fledging baby bird, never having ventured outside of their comfort zones. Announcements startle them, as does everything else associated with air travel. Often getting lost in the toilet cubicles.

And my least favourite traveler to be anywhere near is anyone who looks even slightly like they come from a country that ends in ..stan. They will get stopped! Searched! Grilled! I am not spending 20mins because the idiots that are hired to be the first line of defense against terrorism can’t profile properly. And seriously I have seen some of the morons that work for the various airport security companies, and I tell you now we are fucked if these are what is standing between us and a terrorist!

Some nationalities shouldn’t be allowed to travel, lets take the Irish for instance, they are either pissed or on the way to get pissed. It is like a traveling band of AA members without the sponsor. The French are annoyed because they are forced to leave their beloved France. The Germans are pissed the engineering, the food, the people, the place, the luggage isn’t German. Americans if they have managed to get a passport and have crossed the Border, will try to social engineer the entire trip to get upgrades or freebies. Brazilians think it is flipping carnival wherever they are. I tend to avoid all this madness by hiding out in one airport lounge or another. The Concord Room at LHR is the favourite, as is the Emirates First Class lounge at DXB

But when you land in a country where they are civilised about travel, it stops you in your tracks. Upon check in, the staff are actually helpful, assisting you with your luggage and even when over weight, not charging you and wishing you a good day. Upon boarding you are greeted with a smile and addressed by name! I thought I had done something wrong, why was this woman calling by my name!? And this isn’t in business class, this is economy! The airports are not mass migration portals, shuffling people from gate to gate like cattle. Your family can come with you as far as the boarding gate to see you off. I was like fuck me! Obviously, they haven’t had a terrorist attack happen, by either a disgruntled citizen, or an ungrateful foreigner. Long may the innocence last.

How Ireland turned me into a whore.

How Ireland turned me into a whore.

Yup, you read it right. Ireland turned me into a whore. The concept of escorting is so lost on these Neanderthals, as to be a higher form of thought from another planet. When you have emotionally stunted men, who’s concept of sex, is a fumbled poke in the dark, and who’s biggest concern is getting you pregnant, have no clue as to what or how you catch an STI. Is it any wonder, that when faced with a sexy woman, their dicks shrivel and die?

I have worked for some high class escort agencies in my time, and every girl who is worth her false lashes, knows the best bookings are the longer ones. More money, and actually less work, a man by virtue of biology, can only shag so much over a 12 hour period of time. Even with the aid of little blue pills. Then of course throw in some alcohol and general fitness, and well you can get the shagging part down to 2 strategic shags, and everyone is happy. Now of course if the client is a fine specimen of manhood, and hung like a horse. I am quite happy to stay up all night and shag for country and glory. I might even spend a few extra hours for personal reasons. Good dick is indeed hard to find.

Not in Ireland! For one thing the fuckers turn a lovely shade of green when I tell them my overnight rates. Higher than normal, why because I really don’t want to spend that much time with one client in Ireland. They form attachments too quickly, and before I know it I would have 1) a stalker or worse yet 2) some idiot baying at my front door about being in love with me. Jesus and his angels, save me from shit like this. Mind you it isn’t that I am all that warm and fuzzy, you may have gathered that from my previous posts. It is the full on attention being paid to them. They are not used to that, and it can mess with both heads. Also, not coming from a culture of sexual exploration or openness, the rules of The Game are completely lost on them. They interpreted the angel in knickers to be the real me, not realising that it is a character I have created to play the part of the escort in this little pastiche.

So it became expedient to just see clients on a short time basis. It still didn’t prevent some from forming attachment, but you could nip things in the bud and still get paid for the privilege.

But now that I have returned to a market where the clientele are more the norm, and can actually enjoy the time with a woman without becoming a pest, I have discovered I am ruined! I had gotten so used to dealing with clients on a short term basis, that now I have to reprogram myself to being able to deal with them for longer periods of time. Oh God Help Me! Where I am now, an hour is an hour, not 33 1/2 minutes, including shower time! I have to suppress the 25 minute itch. Meaning I start to get irritated at about the 25 minute mark, and have to keep telling myself, it is ok, he isn’t over staying or becoming a nuisance. It will take some getting used to, but I have a feeling where I am right now I will adjust in no time.

An Ordinary Job

An Ordinary Job

When did hoing become just an ordinary job? Seriously, when did it become just getting by? Fucking hell, I am actually on a budget for the first time in I cant remember how long. A FUCKING BUDGET! What! The! Very! Fuck! It is time for me to pack up my knickers, and bugger off someplace else. Not that I need much encouragement, considering the populace has denigrated into knuckle dragging throwbacks since the recession. Really, the lack of money has affected the Irish like no other group I have come across. The English, stiff upper lipped and carry on. The French, some things in life are essential. The Asians, no recession there, the Scandinavians same as the Asians. But the Irish! It seems the entire fabric of their society has unraveled. They aren’t handling the fall from grace so well. In fact they aren’t handling it at all.

Their idiotic politicians still haven’t a clue about holding the banks to any sort of accountability, the banks haven’t a clue as to the shit they were in, are in, or have any intention of holding themselves accountable, and are getting away with it. And the general population are either leaving in droves, as has happened many times before, or the ones left behind are so disgruntled, they just trundle along and bitch inwardly. Just fucking great! So when I do manage to get one in the door, I not only have to deal with his sexual dysfunction, marital problems, peccadilloes, fantasies, mother issues, his general inability to relate to women on any level above amoeba, I now have to be a financial consultant, as well! This is starting to remind me of real work! I do not do this to be reminded of a real job! FFS! Although I do manage my business like a small blue chipped corporation, it usually is fun. I see who I like, when I like, and generally enjoy my encounters. But now a days, I am being nice on the phone! Nice to snivelling, inbred, cheap, bargain hunting idiots, who I wouldn’t let wipe shit off my shoes, let alone come in and have sex with me! Yup, it is time to leave! Permanently!

Scandanavian men!

Scandanavian men!

I have died and gone to ho heaven. If god created the prefect place on earth for a working girl to go and ply her trade, it would be Scandinavia. The men are absolutely the most beautiful I have ever seen. I mean stunning, tall, fit, clean, sweet smelling, gorgeous, courteous, and sexy as fuck. Why are these men are paying for sex is absolutely beyond me! I mean, every client I saw, I would have quite happily screwed for free, repeatedly. It is like being in a Ford modelling agency. The tall, and the beautiful don’t come close to describing it. So, the question I have is, since the Vikings conquered Ireland, and the Danish, Fins, Swedes and Norwegians are descended from this same group of conquerors, how come the Scandinavians are closely akin to gods and the Irish are more resembling the left over characters from Mordor after the elves have decimated the place?

In terms of looks and build there is really no comparison. Now mind you, not all of them are good looking, but unlike in Ireland where a good looking one stands out, in Sweden, an ugly one stands out. The other thing is, I hardly saw any fat people! Everyone was so blonde and fit, with complexions that glowed! The girls had little to no make up on and looked absolutely beautiful. This could be attributed to the fact that most people eat healthily, and consume way less alcohol than they do in Ireland.

Seriously, after working in Scandinavia and seeing the utter beauty of the clientele, hell would have to freeze over twice, thaw and freeze again before I would set my happy ass anywhere near Ireland ever-a-fucking-gain! I could kick myself! All these years of having to tolerate what can only be describes as trolls from the mountain hinterlands as clientele. Uncouth, unmannered, uncultured, uncivilised, and unclean bastards that they are! How can these people call themselves a civilised first world country is beyond me.

Mind you equal opportunity ho, will shag Quasimodo, and fake orgasms with gleeful abandon, but when a girl is getting paid to shag by, what can only be remarked on as gods walking the earth, well far be it from me to not seriously enjoy the encounter.

And then these lovely creatures will send you pictures, and ask if it ok for them to visit you!? I had one specimen send me a picture, I swear I was ready to catch the next thing with wings. Sweet divine mother of Jesus! That boy was fit as a butchers dog!

Dear god, these creatures are blessed! I mean, seriously blessed. Not only do you have some of the most divine creatures calling you for sex, but these gods want to please you! And oh, can they! I mean, they will lick all parts, in a way, that makes me wonder where the hell have they been studying. All I can say, is bless Scandinavian women, because they must be some of the most demanding females on the planet. Cause the men are truly trained, well.

Not only is the sex with clients better, but they pay more! And are delighted for the smallest bit of affection. Well, I have now made it my life’s mission to find my future husband. He is somewhere in this part of the world. He doesn’t know it yet, but I will find him, and when I do. He will be the happiest man on the planet.

In fact there was one gent, the best term I can use to describe this man, was beautiful, absolute and total perfection! Magical. Now, those who know me, will attest to the fact that I am the consummate professional. None of this breaking of the rules, or engaging in getting personal with clients, FFS! That is until I met, what can only be described as my match. An evolved alpha male in the purest sense of the word, the creature I knew existed, dreamt about, fantasised about, but never found. Until now.

Now, when an alpha female meets an alpha male that is in essence her mate-the fit was perfect! I fell asleep in his arms! ffs! A very odd thing happens to her. She takes a lateral step, and acknowledges her master. Not in a submissive way, more in an acceptance of knowing when a true man is present. And there is also a visceral reaction as well. In other words, she completely loses her fucking mind! Principles who? What principles? You want to be taken and taken with a ferocity that surprised this well balanced and controlled woman. I have never meet a man like this before, and rest assured after 17 hours of pretty much non stop love making and several rip roaring screaming orgasms, I walked away from the encounter craving and needing his touch. Sweet divine mother of Jesus! Why is good love making almost like an assault? We left our mark on each other in the form of scratches, bites, nibbles, razor rash. My nose looks like Rudolph’s, slap some antlers on me, and Santa won’t know the difference. I still get weak kneed when I remember the things I did with this man. He smelled good, tasted good, I haven’t found a single negative thing about him yet.

Yes, those words have been uttered by me. I have found what can only be the closest thing to a perfect man! What now?